


Novelty

by j_quadrifrons



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Boundaries, Canon Asexual Character, Demisexual Jon, Developing Relationship, Fluid Sexuality, M/M, Martin Blackwood is the best boyfriend, Relationship Negotiation, Workplace Relationship, ace subtype: demi and confused, inappropriately timed makeouts, inexplicable lust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23547454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_quadrifrons/pseuds/j_quadrifrons
Summary: Jon experiences A Sexual Attraction; Martin has A Concern. They figure it out.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 67
Kudos: 594





	Novelty

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to cuttooth for their beta-read, and to my sister, who once explained sexual attraction to me. "It's a real thing," she said. I continue to take that on faith.

It had come on slowly, a steady if unpredictable progression ever since the day he'd abandoned words in the throes of exhaustion and kissed Martin to make him stop fussing instead. The kissing had been a decisively successful strategy, although it certainly hadn't done anything for their general productivity levels. Because even if Martin wasn't fussing so much, he was still spending entirely too much time in Jon's office, leaving the door open to avoid temptation but turning pink from the proximity nonetheless. And Jon –

Jon was spending far too much time _watching_ Martin in return. That in and of itself wasn't too unusual, he would have grudgingly admitted if pressed; he'd always been particularly aware of Martin's presence and general demeanor. It was the _way_ he was watching that was new. The curl of hair falling into his eyes that not only drew Jon's eyes irrevocably but also made him want to tuck it behind Martin's ear before kissing him senseless. The way he chewed on his bottom lip when he was thinking that made Jon think about what it would be like to chew on it himself. The confident, steady movement of his hands as he made tea that made Jon want to draw those clever fingers between his lips and _suck._

Which was utterly ridiculous, of course. He didn't understand the point of it, had never understood the point of it, aside from the obvious metaphor. It didn't stop him wanting to do it so badly that some days he couldn't think of anything else.

This must be sexual attraction, he finally realized. Bizarre that it should crop up for the first time when he was nearly thirty years old and spending, quite frankly, too much of his time at a job that terrified him on a daily basis. Also, apparently everyone was right when they'd told him he just didn't understand. Jon briefly considered composing an apology text to Georgie, then discarded the idea. It seemed like a poor way to re-establish contact after nearly four years.

In Jon's defense, this really was an entirely new experience for him. He'd always rather assumed it was something of an exaggeration, a failure of willpower on the part of people who really ought to know better, no matter how much evidence there was to the contrary. It turned out that attraction really was debilitatingly distracting, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

But, he reminded himself sternly, it was still his problem to deal with, like any adult. Even if Martin persisted in rolling up the sleeves of his worn dress shirts, sending Jon into a regular spiral of fantasies that involved extremely unsafe uses of the rickety Archives bookshelves.

He did still try to keep any more...personal interactions out of the Institute, in part to assuage his own lingering guilt about dating someone when he was technically their supervisor. (Even if, as Martin quite reasonably pointed out, he couldn't fire Martin if he wanted to; and if they did have a horrible breakup, between Tim and Melanie the atmosphere in the Archives was already so uncomfortable that they might all appreciate the change.) And Martin, as it happened, was deeply uninterested in Tim's opinions on any of this, so they were mostly successful. 

Of course that there were still occasions when Jon needed to ask him questions, or Martin needed to bring him a bit of research, and they found themselves alone together in his office, which was _fine_ , or would have been fine, if Jon could have just stopped _thinking_ about things, and well, with Martin there, there was one particular activity that was usually fairly reliable at shutting his brain up for a while.

It was possible he'd manipulated Martin somewhat into pinning Jon between his desk and Martin's own pleasingly broad body, but if so, Martin hadn't needed much encouragement. He was kissing Jon like his life depended on it, like there was no other air in the room but that which they could share between them, and Jon clung to him in return, fingers tangled encouragingly in his hair. At some point Martin had decided that he didn't care for the angles involved and had hoisted Jon up to sit on his desk, a move that he might have found unbecoming of his dignity if not for the way it left him dizzy with want. And for the way it left Martin standing right between his spread thighs, where Jon thought he might want him to stay for a very long time.

Martin broke away from his mouth, and Jon's disappointed noise was interrupted by a keening whine when Martin latched onto his throat instead, grazing teeth and tongue lightly over his pulse point, careful not to leave marks. Jon was definitely not thinking when he tangled his fingers in Martin's hair and gasped out, "God, I want you."

Martin pulled away to look at him then, which had _not_ been his intention, but he ignored the insistent tug of Jon's hands. "What," Jon muttered irritably, "Is that so hard to believe?"

He blushed a little, charmingly, at that, although he continued to refuse to be as flustered by Jon's praise as he usually was. "I mean," he said carefully, a bit of concern beginning to creep into his eyes, "You did kind of tell me that you...didn't."

Jon cursed himself internally, unhappily aware that he was not keeping the sour expression off his face. He had, at that; had set out all his boundaries just as everyone always insisted, and this was exactly why he hated talking about it. It made everything feel so _fixed_ , so certain, when he'd never once been certain about it in his life. But of course you had to say something, or else people expected...

He hadn't quite found a way to put any of that into words – and he'd had years to practice, it wasn't as if there was any good reason to believe it would happen now – and Martin had put a comfortable distance between them, resting his hands soothingly, platonically, on Jon's knees.

"You haven't," Martin said cautiously, "You haven't read any strange books or anything lately, have you?"

"Books?" Jon sat up straight, his frustrations disappearing under a wave of disbelief. "What, you think someone delivered us a Leitner that leaves the reader overcome with lust and I just didn't notice?"

"Well I don't know!" Martin squeaked. He was bright red now, but still determined. "You're the one who's usually such a stickler for 'appropriate workplace behavior,'" and his imitation of Jon's accent really was devastatingly good, _why_ did he have to find that attractive, "and you're usually not so..." He gestured vaguely at the whole concept of Jon sitting on his desk, and Jon caught the flailing hand with both his own and tugged him closer again. "Overcome?" Martin said, sounding a little pleased this time.

Jon snorted, as if that would make up for the blush he could feel creeping into his own cheeks. "A figure of speech. Maybe," he admitted, in the face of Martin's growing grin. "I– I don't know. This is...very new to me." His voice trailed off and he fixed his eyes on their hands, Martin's strong fingers laced together with his scarred and ink-stained ones. The silence went on for too long and Jon knew he was a coward but he did not want to have to continue to explain something he still didn't fully grasp, to be accused of being a liar, or repressed, or –

"Well," Martin said at last, with a gentle squeeze of his hand, "that explains why you've been staring at me all week, at least. I thought I had something on every single one of my shirts."

"Under them, more like," Jon muttered, again without thinking. The blush took over the rest of his face and Martin let out a burst of laughter that rang with both surprise and delight. Jon risked a glance, and found that Martin was looking at him with such awe and adoration that he couldn't look away.

Martin licked his lips nervously and stumbled through a handful of unfinished words before he asked, "Did you mean it?"

"Yes," Jon said softly, but Martin was already correcting himself.

"Or – or I suppose I mean, do you want to do anything about it, or – not that – if –"

"Yes," Jon said more firmly, and Martin stopped stammering.

"Oh."

Jon tugged again on their linked hands and pulled him in for a soft, much more chaste kiss. Martin hummed happily against his lips, and when they parted, he was smiling.

With a gleam in his eye, he said, "I'm not fucking you over your desk, though. I think that might be dangerous in more ways than one."

"Lord, no," Jon answered. "Besides, I think Elias has gotten more than enough of an eyeful already."

Martin's face twisted with something that wasn't wholly disgust. "Okay, let's...please never make me think about that again. Dinner at yours or mine, then, tonight?" The hint of pink still gracing his ears and cheekbones was an alluring contrast to his confident tone.

"Mine," Jon said firmly. "Your sofa is a menace, and your bed's not that much better."

"That's...that's fair." Martin looked as though he wanted to kiss him again, but had thought better of it, so Jon leaned precariously far off the edge of the desk and kissed the corner of his mouth before letting him go.

Martin took a few minutes to straighten himself before going back into the Archives; fortunately his hair was usually something of a mess, so it wouldn't be too obvious that Jon had had his hands in it for the past twenty minutes. On his way out the door, he said over his shoulder, "I _will_ let you know if I spot any suspicious books lying about, though."

"Martin–" Jon called out, fond and exasperated, at the closing door.

**Author's Note:**

> "Jon gets salty about the idea of sexy Leitners" has been an idea that wouldn't leave me alone for ages, I can imagine him getting incredibly hung up on it. "Why would that even happen?" he's insisting two days later. "What unknowable fear power feeds on _fucking_?" (It's the Web, Jon, and Martin would tell you that except he's bluescreened at hearing Jon say "fucking" in that context.) I, on the other hand, adore sexy Leitners, please continue to write all of them. 
> 
> Come yell at me about TMA: [@j_quadrifrons](http://www.twitter.com/j_quadrifrons), [backofthebookshelf](http://backofthebookshelf.tumblr.com)


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